


Briefly

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shameless schmoopy smut stuff i dont even know i'm so sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Briefly

Cas is three fingers deep inside him, forehead pressed against the left cheek of his ass, and all Dean can think is that he’s the luckiest motherfucker in the world.

It’s usually a fucking horrorshow, this crap; explaining to someone what he really wants, what he’d like them to do to him, with him; stuttering over awkward words,  _terrified_ of how they might react. Cassie had taken it well, Lisa too; but with others he was not so lucky, or was so scared to have the conversation he just tried to forget about it; shut the fuck up, stop being so  _weird,_ push it down.

With Cas it is different. With Cas, he can ask him to slap him in the face, hard, before he comes, and Cas will do it, no questions asked, sharp sting, flood of warmth and all; and just as easily, after, Cas will kiss him and hold him, mumbling gratitude and sweetness in his ear until he falls asleep.

Dean hasn’t even asked him for this; not specifically, not tonight. They talk a lot about sex, one of the few things they can be entirely honest about – Cas is good at it, without human bias, with his insatiable curiosity, asking Dean what he wants, what is possible, what he’d be open to trying.

So he’d undressed Dean from behind, letting Dean work his shirt off his shoulders, lying on his chest at the head of the bed. Cas had peeled his jeans down over the curve of his ass, thrown them aside, and nosed at the cleft of his ass through his boxers until Dean was twisting his fists in the sheets already, canting his hips back towards Cas’ face.

Cas slid his boxers down, tossed them away and pushed his face against the backs of Dean’s thighs, coaxing them apart with his hands, making soft, indulgent noises. He sucked deep kisses on the skin there, dipped his head to nose at Dean’s balls, and then with only a brief, liquid pause his fingers were pressing at Dean’s hole, pushing beyond the tight muscle, making him sigh, loud, slumping cheek-first against the bed.

Then it was sweet pressure, second finger joining the first, fucking in and out of him slowly, then at greater speed – Cas added a third and he cried out, pushing his face hopelessly against the bed, rocking back onto Cas’ hand.

 He knows he’s talking but he has no idea what he’s saying, endless mumbles of gratitude and disbelief, Cas pressing soft, measured kisses against his lower back as his hand keeps its steady rhythm.  His cock is so heavy between his legs, dripping on the sheets below it, that he knows he can come just like this, pleasure a warm weight on his tailbone, uncoiling with each steady drag of knuckle crooked inside him, each brush against his prostate that makes him push back and  _howl._

He makes a noise, desperate, and gasps on the tail end of it when Cas’ hand finds the back of his thigh, short, sharp sting of a slap that makes him open his mouth wide on a mouthful of cotton, and tears gather in his eyes.

He’s moving mindless, pushing back on Cas’ fingers still inside him, gripping the bed so hard his knuckles feel strange and outsized.

Then Cas removes his fingers in one slow, careful slide, and grips the back of his thigh. Dean feels the hot press of Cas’ cock against his wet hole, and he fumbles to reach back, guide him in; gasps Cas’ name because he’s not sure he knows any other words. Cas leans towards him, over his back, as close as he can get to Dean’s face. He kisses his shoulderblade.

“Are you alright? Is this okay?” he says, and Dean nods frantically.

“Yeah, it’s good, Cas, it’s good,” he chokes wetly on his own desperation, cock hanging hard between his legs, a constant throb. “Cas,  _please,”_ he says, and feels a wash of relief when he feels the warm, soft head of Cas’ cock press against him.

But that push further never comes; the head of Cas’ cock tags him and then slips away, and with his face buried in the bed he doesn’t know what he’s doing until he hears Cas make a taut, breathy noise, hears the slap of Cas’ hand working, then feels Cas’ come coat his stretched hole, his lower back, in searing-hot stripes.

He pushes his face harder against the bed and groans from somewhere so deep in his throat that it almost hurts; Cas is still jacking himself, still spurting over Dean’s flesh, dripping stickywarm all over him, and it only takes the barest thing – how it feels when it drips from his hole, down his legs, trickles into the space behind his balls - before he is crying out again, more a sob than anything else, and coming, fucking  _shaking,_ onto the bed. His legs tremble; his thighs tense with the effort of keeping him from collapsing against the bed; and he barely has time to register the wrench of heat that has wracked his through his body because Cas is gathering the come on his fingers, scooping it from between his legs, and pushing it two-fingered inside him.

Dean can’t help it, he  _whimpers,_ oversensitive and overwhelmed and fucking rapturous with it, that edge of pain unbuffered by orgasm, treading the line so perfectly sweet between joy and agony. Cas’ fingers find his prostate and gently stroke, his other hand kneading Dean’s upper thigh.

Dean pushes back into it, sleepy, his noise muffled by the bed; he sobs and mumbles, almost inaudible, “Cas,” and Cas kisses the foot of his spine with such care that he really does almost cry.

“You’re so good for me Dean,” it’s not a confident sentence; it comes as if Cas hasn’t chosen to say it, as if he is sure of his words but not sure that he should have uttered them. Dean barely hears it over the roaring in his ears, the way his flesh is tensing, in spasm beneath Cas’ endless, careful attention.  Then, as if correcting himself, Cas says “You’re so  _good,”_ just that, punctuated by a kiss.

He withdraws his fingers – Dean trembles, legs almost failing him – and then Cas’ tongue, warm and wet, is soft at the back of Dean’s balls, soothing. It laps at his hole, kisses wide and wet and without teeth, slurred against every inch of him, Cas’ hand moving slowly up to rub his palm over Dean’s lower back, shushing him soft.

Cas leans his forehead on Dean’s skin, and Dean can feel him breathe, there.

It shouldn’t be so intimate; shouldn’t make him feel like his heart and lungs are being squeezed. Cas’ hands travel careful up the backs of his legs and he finally collapses, slumping into the wet spot beneath him.

He feels Cas’ hands move up his back, over his shoulders, into the hair at the back of his neck. Cas kisses his nape, threads a hand into his damp hair.

Dean isn’t really capable of words, can’t muster the strength to even move; but he listens, when Cas tells him he loves him. He knows he can feel it, too.


End file.
